


Guardians of Time

by AmyPond45



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Adventure, M/M, Romance, Suspense, Time Travel, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:14:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmyPond45/pseuds/AmyPond45
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU set in season 9, between "Bad Boys" and "Holy Terror." The Winchesters investigate reports of a 12-year-old boy who seems to be performing miracles in a small Illinois town. Then the boy's parents die in a tragic accident and Sam and Dean are named next of kin. They must figure out what's happening and do what they can to protect the boy from angels who are suddenly killing twelve-year-old boys and their families all over the world. Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters but I'm grateful to get to borrow them! Warnings for established Wincest, explicit at times but not central to the story, and implied Destiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guardians of Time

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This is a sequel to my story "Back from Hell," in which the Winchesters conceive twin boys who look exactly like them and are destined for great things. It's also a sequel to my story "Possessed By an Angel," in which Dean gets Zeke to "tune out" so he and Sam can be intimate.

"OK, this is weird."

Sam was researching, laptop open on the library table. Dean was finishing his second sandwich, a particularly tasty grilled concoction of his own making. Thank Whatever for that kitchen.

"Hit me," Dean mumbled with his mouth full, reaching for his beer bottle and taking a swig.

"Twelve-year-old boy started performing miracles about six months ago." Sam read from the screen.

"Miracles, huh?" Dean shrugged. "What -- like healing lepers? Turning water into wine?"

"Bringing back dead things," Sam answered, frowning.

"Ugh," Dean commented, putting his sandwich down half-eaten and wiping his hands on his jeans. "That's just -- gross. What kind of dead things? People?"

"No, just plants and animals," Sam answered. "But it looks like he's working up to people."

"How do you know?" Dean got up to cross behind Sam, reading over his shoulder.

"Started out bringing back dead plants at his school. Then a pet gerbil on a playdate. Last week he resurrected the neighbor's cat, and this week it was the family dog. Big labrador got hit by a truck. Junior brought it back to life, good as new."

"OK, that is just plain creepy," Dean said. "I think we might have to pass on this one. I really did not enjoy Pet Cemetery."

"Dean, that makes no sense," Sam paused in his reading to look up at his brother. "You and I have died and resurrected how many times? How is this creepier?"

"Yeah, Sam, but we're us. And we're still us, even after all the stuff that's happened. Who knows what these animals are? It's not like they can tell us they're OK, is it? What if this kid is creating a little army of undead critters that could start -- I don't know -- eating people all of a sudden?"

"Animal zombies," Sam said dryly, his voice dripping sarcasm. "Seriously."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe," he persisted. "How do you know?"

Sam sighed, exasperated. "Well, I guess we just have to check it out. Kid's in Decatur, Illinois. Should take us less than a day's drive to get there."

"OK," Dean agreed. "But I'm stocking up on dog biscuits, just in case."

Sam rolled his eyes.

* * *

Dean was grumpier than usual on the drive, and Sam finally gave up trying to talk to him and went to sleep. Dean glanced at his sleeping brother from time to time, more worried than he liked to admit about this latest case. It wasn't just the fact that Sam was possessed by an angel but didn't know it, and the stress of keeping that fact a secret was starting to wear on Dean. It was the fact that this case involved the two things he hated most: kids and animals.

No, he didn't hate kids and animals, but he sure as hell hated cases involving them. Kids and animals were innocents, and as such should not have anything to do with the evil the Winchesters hunted on a regular basis. Despite that, Dean and Sam had been forced to rescue them from evil things that were twice as evil for preying on those innocent lives. And Dean always hated that. Those evil sons of bitches could come after adults and it didn't bother him so much, but targeting dependent innocents was just beyond reprehensible. It was sick in ways he couldn't begin to describe.

Not to mention the fact that kids always made him feel protective and responsible, feelings that got in the way of doing the job. Being around kids took him back to his own childhood in ways he didn't want to think about too much. Made him remember taking care of Sam, back when his little brother was small and vulnerable and absolutely dependent on his big brother, especially since their dad was gone so much.

After they checked into their motel Dean took a shower and changed while Sam collected names and addresses for their interviews. They decided they'd start first thing in the morning, since it was already after dark and Dean wanted Sam to get a good night's sleep.

He didn't say so, though, because he knew Sam would just roll his eyes at him and protest that he was feeling fine, blah blah blah. But Dean knew better, knew that Sam was still recovering, was still not at full strength. If he had been, Ezekiel would be gone. And although Dean hadn't talked to the angel for awhile, he knew he was still there, nestled deep inside Sam's unconscious mind where Sam couldn't tell he was there because he might eject him if he did. Which Dean could not allow to happen. For Sam's sake, obviously, but also for his own, because he couldn't let something happen to Sam, couldn't let his brother get hurt or die again. It was just too much for Dean to bear. Sam might be able to live without him, had even shown that he could on a few occasions, but Dean knew he couldn't live without Sam. Life without Sam just wasn't life at all. And that's all there was to it.

After burgers and salad at the local diner, Dean stripped down to his boxers and tee-shirt and flopped down on the king-size bed, flipping on the t.v. while Sam showered. The local news channel was running a horrific story about a house fire in town which had started earlier that evening and had apparently resulted in the deaths of two of the occupants of the house, a Mr. and Mrs. Roger Evans. As Dean watched in horrified fascination, the camera roamed over the conflagration, then took in the huddled figure of the sole survivor of the fire, a young boy wrapped in a blanket, sitting on the steps of a rescue truck with a female paramedic. As his face flashed across the screen, the words "Miracle Boy Survives Fire" scrolled beneath, and Dean stared.

It was the boy they were here to investigate.

"Sam!" Dean called. "Get out here!"

The bathroom door opened and Sam padded into the room, bare-chested, towel wrapped around his waist, scrubbing his wet hair with another towel.

"What?"

Dean gestured at the t.v. "It's our kid," he said, and Sam stared at the screen, taking in the tragedy unfolding there for a moment before turning away, his face a mask of urgency and horror.

"Oh my God, Dean," he said, "we've got to get over there."

Dean watched for another moment as Sam scrambled to find their clothes. So much for a nice quiet evening at home, he thought as he flipped off the t.v. and got up to get dressed.

* * *

They were at the scene in less than ten minutes, dressed in their FBI duds, straightening each other's ties when they got out of the car. The place was swarming with fire and police, lights flashing, firefighters still dousing what was left of the fire. The house was a smoldering ruin. No flames anymore, just smoke and blackened windows. Police had cordoned off the street, but they let Sam and Dean in when they flashed their badges. Dean found the fire chief still directing activity from the street in front of the house.

"What happened?" he asked, and the chief glanced at him, at his badge, before answering.

"We're thinkin' gas explosion," he said grimly. "Neighbors report hearing a boom. Place went up like a bomb."

"Casualties?"

The man's face was lined with exhaustion. "We got here in six minutes after the first call -- place was completely involved. My men went in but there were no air-pockets. Every room involved, from basement to attic. Had to open the roof just to get on top of it."

He sighed, ran a hand over his face. "We're putting off the recovery till morning, but we expect to find two bodies in there."

"Survivors?" Dean asked.

The chief gestured to a paramedic truck parked a few feet away. "Little boy. He must've been outside when it happened."

"Thanks," Dean nodded, headed toward the truck as Sam joined him .

"Neighbors are saying there was an explosion," Sam said. "Little Henry was playing outside."

"Yeah, I got that," Dean said as they rounded the corner of the truck.

The boy was huddled in a blanket, sitting on the back of the truck with a female paramedic. When Sam and Dean approached the boy looked up and Dean had a moment of deja vu so strong it made him dizzy.

"Sam?"

The word was out of his mouth before he was able to think, and the boy's face registered immediate recognition, his hazel eyes widening in delight.

"Dean!" he cried, wiggling off the end of the step and leaping up so he could throw himself at Dean, wrapping his arms around his waist and hugging him tight, small body trembling.

"What the -- " Sam started to ask, staring. Dean hesitated for a moment, then returned the boy's hug, patting his back with one hand, his dark hair with the other.

"You must be Dean Hunter," the paramedic said, getting up from the back of the truck. "Henry said you'd be here."

"Wha -- " Dean stared at her, uncomprehending.

"You're Henry's uncles, right?" she clarified. "Sam and Dean Hunter? We've been waiting for you. We should have taken him straight to the hospital, but he kept insisting you'd be here any minute. You're next of kin, right?"

Dean exchanged a glance with Sam, confusion and shock keeping them both silent for another moment. Okay, this was weird.

Sam recovered first.

"Right, that's us. We've got him. Uh -- thank you."

"Kid needs a bath and a warm bed," the woman commented. "And a lot of love. You guys have your hands full."

She reached out and ruffled Henry's hair. Henry was still hugging Dean, holding on as if for dear life.

"See ya, kid," the paramedic said, then she was gone.

Dean and Sam exchanged another look.

"OK, what now?" Dean said to his brother, who stared back, then lifted his eyebrows in obvious bewilderment.

Henry solved the moment for them by drawing back, looking up at Dean with the most trusting gaze, and Dean saw nothing but Sam -- his Sam -- at that age when he needed Dean, really needed him.

Dean cleared his throat.

"OK -- Henry," he said hesitantly. "You know us, but I don't think we know you. Do you think you can help us with that?"

Henry's face twisted into a sad little boy look -- hell, he was a little boy for god's sake -- then cleared immediately.

"You don't remember me, Dean," he said in a voice that seemed much older than his years, yet his face retained its innocence. "I'm your son. Henry. I knew you would come."

Dean's mind raced with memories, instantly recalling the strange time four years ago when he and Sam had traveled into the future to meet their sons -- twin sons -- who looked just like them. Henry and John. Their sons.

But this boy was twelve years old. How did that make sense?

"Castiel hid us," Henry said, as if reading Dean's mind. "He took us someplace safe. So the seraph wouldn't find us."

Henry looked solemnly at Sam for a long moment, and Sam looked back at him, starting to realize that this was what he looked like to Dean at this age, which was why Dean had first called Henry by Sam's name.

And why Dean was so naturally ready to trust this small creature who looked exactly like the little brother he had always sworn to protect and care for. No matter what.

"Dean, can I talk to you for a minute?" Sam asked his brother. "Alone?"

Dean hesitated, unwilling to let Henry go, even for a minute.

"Let's put Henry in the car first," Dean suggested. "He's been through a lot tonight."

So they walked together back to the Impala, and surprisingly, no one stopped them or even seemed to notice them, so that once they had put Henry into the back seat of the car and Dean turned to Sam with a "What?" he was obviously completely won over by the child, a kid he'd barely known five minutes.

"Dean, you realize this is impossible, right?" Sam said quietly once they were alone. "That can't be our Henry."

"Why not?" Dean was more defensive than necessary, and Sam could see this wasn't going to be easy.

"Well, for one thing, he's older," Sam said. "Even if this is our Henry, he should only be four years old. Think about it, Dean. Something's not right."

Dean was thoughtful for a moment, then nodded.

"OK, I'll call Cas," he said. "He can explain this."

Sam threw his hands up, huffing out a breath in disbelief.

"Cas?" he said incredulously. "Seriously? He can't even take care of himself right now. How can he help us with this?"

Dean shot a look that sliced right into Sam's soul, and Sam immediately deflated, knowing he would accept whatever Dean had to say without any further doubts.

"Cas will know what's going on, okay?" Dean insisted. "He was there. He knows what happened. We need his help, damn it."

Sam ducked his head, nodding without meeting Dean's eyes.

"Okay," he agreed. "But right now, Henry needs a warm bath and a bed. How are we going to give him what he needs? How are we gonna take care of a kid?"

Dean took a deep breath.

"He can come back to the motel with us for now," Dean said firmly. "We'll figure out the rest in the morning."

"Are you crazy?" Sam was starting to lose it now. "We can't take a kid into our motel room, Dean. This is a small town, man. If somebody sees us, two guys with a little kid -- You think they're gonna let us leave town alive? Besides, we're not really his uncles. If somebody reports us and we end up with the cops at our door -- "

"Sam, you know as well as I do that's our kid," Dean said. "Any paternity test would show that. So even if we ain't his uncles, we're damn well related to him. More than those poor people were." He gestured at the ruined house. "And as his parents we have a right to take him with us."

"I just think it's really stupid to try to take him back to the motel," Sam deflated under Dean's insistence. "It'll totally draw attention to us, you have to see that."

Dean sighed, thinking a minute.

"We could roll him up in a blanket, smuggle him in," he muttered.

"Dean!" Sam looked disgusted.

"OK, OK, we'll drive home," Dean said. "Plenty of room there. Lots of hot water. He can sleep in the car."

Sam stared. "Dude, we just drove ten hours straight to get here."

"Yeah, so?"

"So you're tired, Dean. Not letting you drive all the way back tonight."

Dean locked his green eyes on Sam's, pausing only a minute before announcing, "OK, you drive."

Sam stared at him. Dean never let him drive. Or rarely anymore at least. And since he'd been sick, since the trials, Dean had been so overprotective Sam didn't dare so much as offer to drive.

That's how Sam realized how committed Dean was to this. To Henry.

"You slept on the way here, right?" Dean filled the silence that had followed his last words, and Sam nodded.

"So, you're good to go. Are we good? Good." Dean got into the driver's seat, and Sam slipped into the passenger seat beside him.

Dean turned to Henry, who was huddled in the back, still clutching the blanket the EMT had wrapped around him. He looked younger than twelve, more like eight or nine, small for his age as Sam had been, all those years ago.

Dean smiled reassuringly. "We're gonna take you home, Henry, okay?"

Henry nodded. "Okay," he agreed.

"We just need to stop at our motel and get our stuff," Sam added.

"You can sleep in the back seat, and when you wake up, we'll be there," Dean said, his voice gentle. "Okay, buddy?"

Henry nodded. "Just like you and Sam did when you were little," he said.

Dean raised his eyebrows, glanced at Sam.

"Yeah, that's right," he agreed.

Not weird at all.

* * *

After collecting their gear from the motel and leaving a message on Castiel's voice mail ("This is Steve's voicemail. (pause) Now what do I do? (beep)") Sam and Dean and Henry started back along the dark highway west out of town.

The night was full of stars, and the road was incredibly straight, two-lane most of the hour to Springfield, then onto Highway 72 toward Hannibal. Henry fell asleep immediately, obviously exhausted, but Dean found he couldn't sleep, waiting for Castiel to call, so he was relieved when Sam finally broke the silence.

"Wha'd'ya think's going on, Dean?"

Dean closed his eyes for a minute, then rubbed a hand over his face, turning to glance into the backseat at the sleeping bundle there before facing his brother.

"I think we have a scared little boy on our hands and we're gonna take care of him," he answered. "We're his family. Apparently all he's got."

"So you think the explosion that killed his parents was just an accident?"

Dean sighed. "An accident, maybe," he nodded. "But probably not just an accident."

"You think something knew we were coming? You think this wasn't just a coincidence that we just happened to be in town?"

Sam sometimes had a habit of answering his own questions by making Dean confirm his thinking, which was Sam's way of making Dean feel smarter.

And Dean knew it.

"When is anything ever a coincidence with us?" Dean answered, and Sam nodded.

"What about John? Why would Castiel separate them?"

"I guess he figured they'd be less conspicuous that way," Dean shrugged.

"Hard to be inconspicuous when you're a little boy who suddenly starts bringing things back from the dead," Sam commented dryly. "And what is that, anyway? Some kind of psychic power? And how the hell did he know us? Know we were coming?"

Sam shivered reflexively, and Dean knew he was remembering his own psychic powers, which brought all sorts of bad memories forth. Dean put his hand on Sam's knee, squeezed lightly.

"We'll figure it out, okay?" he said quietly. "I'm sure it's not like your thing. No yellow-eyed demon got to Henry as a baby, 'cause we killed the son of a bitch, remember?"

Sam nodded, blowing out a breath.

Boy was exhibiting some serious tension tonight, and Dean felt bad he couldn't do something about it. He knew his brother needed to let off some steam, but with the angel possessing him Dean was reluctant to give him more than brotherly reassurances.

Sam's big, warm hand closed over Dean's, keeping it trapped on his knee. Dean sighed, scooted down on the bench and lay his head back against it, closing his eyes. The warmth of Sam's leg was comforting and titillating at the same time, and if it hadn't been for the boy asleep in the backseat and the angel in residence in his brother's body, Dean might've taken the moment to initiate a little road rage. Just thinking about it was making him hard, and he let his legs fall open so he could ease the strain in his pants. He hadn't had time to change out of his suit, and now the ill-fitting costume was getting downright uncomfortable. He reached up with his free hand and loosened his tie, keeping his eyes closed so he couldn't see Sam sneaking glances at him, as he knew he was doing.

"You okay, Dean?" Sam asked, his voice catching in that tell-tale way that Dean knew well. Sam was turned on too. He could feel the muscles in Sam's leg tensing through the fabric of his trousers.

"I'm good," Dean answered, turning his head toward his brother and opening his eyes just a little, parting his lips to give Sam the full effect of his flushed skin, tilting his head back so his neck was fully extended and exposed.

Sam nearly ran off the road, clutching Dean's hand reflectively as his leg muscles clenched.

"Jesus, Dean," Sam hissed. "You're such a bastard."

Dean grinned, letting his legs fall open even wider, wiggling down further on the seat. His free hand slid down between his legs and Sam gasped.

Then Dean's cell vibrated in his pants pocket and they both jumped.

Dean snatched his hand away from Sam's and sat up on the bench so he could grope in his pocket for the phone.

"Cas?"

"Dean, this is Steve. I received your message on my voice mail, and I am calling you as you asked me to do. I may not be able to speak with you for long because I am extremely busy. You never call, so this is very unexpected, to say the least. So please tell me why did you call me?"

"Cas, shut up and I'll tell you," Dean commanded, ignoring Sam's frowns as he recounted the details of the strange case which had suddenly turned so personal.

"So what did you do with the boys, Cas?" Dean asked. "Why is Henry older than he should be? Where's John?"

Castiel was silent on the other end of the line for so long that Dean thought he must have hung up.

"Cas? Can you hear me?" he said finally.

"Yes, Dean, I can hear you," Castiel answered.

"Okay," Dean took a deep breath, controlling the urge to yell. "So where is John?"

"I cannot tell you," Castiel answered.

'What? Why not?"

"Dean, I can no longer help you because it makes my chest hurt. You were my friend once, but you told me to leave when I needed you. I was there when you needed me, but now that I am no longer useful you abandoned me and it makes me very, very sad. I can no longer allow myself to be used, Dean. It makes my chest hurt."

Dean took a breath again. "Cas, you're just gonna have to trust me on this, okay?" His voice was low and intense. "You are my friend. My best friend. I owe you my life. I owe you Sam's life, as you well know, and I would never forget a debt like that.

"But I need you to hear me, okay?" he continued. "I have a defenseless little boy sleeping in my back seat right now, and he needs a home and people to love him and care for him. Now you know how we live. He can't stay with us. We need to find his brother so maybe whoever is caring for John will take Henry too."

Castiel was silent again for another long moment, When he spoke his voice was low and gravelly and it made Dean's spine tingle.

"Is Sam there?" he asked.

"What?" Dean glanced at his brother. "Yeah, Sam's here. What does that have to do with anything?"

"Were you having sex when I called?"

Dean closed his eyes, struggling to control his mounting irritation.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he asked again.

"Just answer the question, Dean," Castiel growled.

"No, we were not. Not that it's any of your business," Dean growled back, glancing at Sam again. Sam was frowning, clearly getting the gist of the conversation from Dean's side of it.

"But you were going to," Castiel insisted.

"Cas, I'm hanging up now." Now it was Dean's turn to growl.

Silence.

"Castiel, you hear me? If you're not gonna help us we'll just figure it out on our own."

Castiel was silent so long Dean almost hung up, but at the last minute he heard Castiel's sigh, and when he spoke his voice was resigned, sad.

"I had to separate the boys," he said. "I hid them in the past. That's why Henry's older than he should be. John too. But beyond that I can't say over the phone. If you want to meet me I can show you, but I cannot tell you."

So they were back to square one.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, glanced at Sam. OK, this was complicated.

"Alright," he said to Castiel. "I'll drive up tomorrow. Gotta leave Sam and Henry at home."

"What? Why?" Sam demanded, and Dean closed his eyes and gave his head a little shake. Sam pursed his lips.

"Okay," Castiel answered. "I will see you tomorrow. I am free at 6:00."

Damn. In the dark. With Castiel the sexy former angel. This was definitely complicated. Especially after last time. Shit.

But what else could he do?

"Okay, I'll see you then," Dean agreed, ending the call.

"What?" Sam was angry. "You're going to see Cas? Alone? Again?"

"Don't worry, you've got nothin' to be jealous about," Dean tried to make his voice sound light, tried a smirky little grin, but knew he wasn't quite pulling it off. Sam was already on edge, already frustrated.

Dean would need to do something about that.

"Dean, you can't go alone. There are angels out there hunting Cas. Hunting us! You almost got yourself killed last time." Now Sam was sounding whiny.

"I'll be careful, Mom," Dean assured him.

"Why can't Henry stay with Kevin? Or -- Cas could come down, meet you somewhere." Sam shook his head. "I still don't understand why he can't stay with us. It would be safer all round."

"No, it wouldn't," Dean was feeling suddenly tired. "We've been over this. I'm going. You and Henry are staying home. End of story."

He crossed his arms and scooted down in the seat again, turning away from Sam and closing his eyes. Sam wasn't going to let this go, and Dean knew it. Knew Sam deserved answers. And Dean was getting sick and tired of covering for Ezekiel; it was time for Sam to be healed, time for Dean to get his brother back.

But right now he was exhausted. Right now he just needed some goddamn shut-eye.

* * *

Sound of speeding car roaring past, followed by Sam exclaiming "What the hell?"

Dean woke with a start, just in time to see the car that had just passed them at top speed drive straight into the upcoming overpass and burst into flames.

"Oh my God!" Sam exclaimed, pulling the Impala over onto the shoulder as close to the burning car as possible. Dean was dialing 911, barely registering what was happening, but instinct had kicked in. As it had for Sam, who was already out of the car and running toward the flames.

It was still dark out. They were alone on the road. Something was horribly, terribly wrong.

"Sam!"

Dean finished the anonymous call, having noted the mile marker and guessed they were on Highway 36 about an hour out of Hannibal. Dean's protective instincts were kicking in. Sam was too close to that car --

The burning car exploded again, sending a fireball into the night sky, incinerating whoever was inside it.

Dean was out of the car and running to Sam, who lay on his back in the gravel at the side of the road, blown backwards by the force of the blast. Dean was on his knees, hands all over his brother's body, checking for damage, calling Sam's name, fear rushing through his veins like crack.

Then Sam's eyes fluttered open and focused on his brother, blinking, and Dean could feel relief flooding him.

"Okay," Dean muttered, half to himself, half to Sam. "You're gonna be ok."

The heat from the burning car was becoming uncomfortable. Dean helped Sam sit up and they both turned toward the fire, which by this time had completely consumed the car and was lighting up the dark night like a beacon. It was obvious to both brothers that there was no way to save whoever had been inside, as Sam had hoped to do.

"Come on," Dean said, helping his brother to his feet so they could retreat from the increasing temperature. "Nothin' we can do here."

That's when they saw him.

Young boy, dark blond hair cut short on the sides, longer on top, green eyes wide with shock, standing alone not twenty feet away, staring at the fire.

"Hey," Dean called to him. "You okay?"

The boy pulled his gaze away from the fire, turned to look at Dean, and somehow Dean knew, even before the boy's eyes filled with tears.

It was John.

How could it be John?

But before he could confirm his crazy, totally insane instinct, the back door of the Impala opened and Henry climbed out. Dean watched, momentarily frozen with shock, as Henry stepped up to the other boy, so that the two boys were facing each other, staring, silent.

"Hi," Henry spoke first.

The other boy's face contorted and his shoulders heaved as sobs wracked him.

"You're real," he sobbed out, and Henry nodded.

The boy looked up at Dean, face streaked with tears, more tears running freely down his face.

"You're all real," he cried, and suddenly Dean realized he had crossed the distance and the boy was in his arms, hugging him like his life depended on it, arms wrapped around Dean's waist, face dampening Dean's shirt.

Dean patted the boy's back and exchanged a look with Sam, who was staring open-mouthed.

"It's John," Dean said, feeling his own eyes fill uncontrollably.

Sam's eyebrows shot up and he stared at the boy again, shock and recognition playing havoc with his handsome face. Dean watched as Sam's memories kicked in to help confirm what Dean was saying; this boy looked exactly like Dean did at about the age of 12.

Or 13.

What the hell.

"Hey, it's okay," Dean murmured to John, rubbing his back. "We've got you."

John hugged tighter and Dean lay his cheek on the boy's head, amazed at how familiar it felt to hold this utter stranger.

"Can you tell us what happened?" It was Sam's voice, quiet and sympathetic. "How did you get out here?"

John stepped back then, rubbing his face with his sleeve, nodding at Sam.

"We were going home," he said, his voice shaking, choked. "My Dad was driving, Mom was in the front and I was in the back. We went to town to see a movie for my birthday."

"It's your birthday?" Dean stared, then looked at Henry. "Yours too?"

Henry nodded. "I'm thirteen today," he confirmed, and John managed a shy smile.

"Me too," he said, and for a moment the world seemed to stop as the boys gazed at each other, understanding dawning, as Sam and Dean watched in amazed silence.

"Wait, so you were in the car?" Dean clarified, and John turned his gaze back to his father.

"Yeah," he nodded.

"But that's impossible," Sam argued. "I watched the crash. Nobody got out. Nobody thrown clear. I would've seen it."

John's eyes filled with tears again, and this time Henry reached for his hand, took it and squeezed.

John took the gesture of comfort with an expression of sheer wonder, his eyes on Henry again.

"It's this thing I do," he said brokenly, turning back to Sam. "I can move things. Just by thinking about it. Sometimes it just happens and I can't control it, like when I'm sleeping."

"And you were sleeping in the car," Sam clarified.

John nodded. "But I couldn't save them!" He was looking at the fire, still burning brightly, and Henry dropped his hand so he could put his arm around John's shoulders, pulling him in for a hug.

"It's okay," Henry said, hazel eyes somber. "My parents died tonight too. It's just us now. We found each other. It's gonna be okay."

John gazed at him like a drowning man, tears streaming freely down his freckled cheeks again.

They all became aware of the sounds of sirens then, moving closer, and Dean's protective instincts took over.

"Okay, everybody in the car. Time to go home," he announced, and Sam stared at him.

"We can't just take him with us, Dean," he protested.

"Yeah, we can," Dean insisted. "He's our son. They're both our sons."

"But there'll be people looking for him," Sam insisted. "It's kidnapping, Dean. We can't just take a boy we find by the side of the road home with us."

Dean frowned, turned back to John in obvious irritation.

"You got some other family somewhere?" he demanded. "Grandma, grandpa, cousins, aunts and uncles, cousins?"

John shook his head.

"It's just my mom and dad and me," he answered. "We move around a lot, so I get homeschooled mostly. Dad's a mechanic. He can fix cars, farm machinery, stuff like that." Another sob. "I mean, he was a mechanic. I can't believe he's -- "

"Okay, it's okay," Dean patted John's head, turned to Sam. "Happy now? You want him to go to foster care? Didn't think so. Okay, let's go."

Not waiting for Sam's response, Dean opened the back door of the car, ushering the boys inside before crossing to the driver's side, raising his hand for Sam to toss him the keys, catching them smoothly as he opened the car door and climbed inside. Sam was already in the passenger seat and the Impala was peeling away, passing the burning car with barely a backwards glance as the Winchesters and their sons headed into the dark toward Lebanon.

* * *

It was getting light by the time they pulled into a truck stop outside Mankato, Kansas. The boys were sleeping, curled around each other like puppies in the backseat, as they had been for most of the last four hours. It was as if they'd never been apart, that special bond that twins have making them closer even than Sam and Dean, whose four-year age difference had guaranteed a more unequal relationship, at least when they were younger. Sam's relative youth had always made him more dependent, more rebellious, while Dean's older age had given him a strong sense of responsibility and a driving need to be in control. The fact that Sam had always been small for his age, right up until he wasn't, had always made him seem even younger than he was, and since their dad had been gone so much it had mostly fallen to Dean to care for his little brother, a task he never really minded that much, except when he did.

But these two, their ages perfectly matched, were obviously on the road to a different relationship. Reversed, in fact, if Dean was reading it correctly. Henry seemed much older somehow, more responsible, less emotionally volatile, and although he was physically smaller, obviously following Sam's growth genes as he followed every other trait of Sam's, Henry didn't seem smaller at all. In fact, watching John clinging to him, follow him with his eyes even when Henry was looking away from his brother -- Dean could see a vulnerability and dependence in his youthful double that was oddly fascinating. John cried easily, smiled easily, seemed excessively shy. Didn't remind Dean of himself at all, except in looks.

After filling up they stopped at the diner for breakfast, and Dean got a chance to observe the boys some more. They sat in the booth pressed together from shoulder to hip, and that's when Dean realized John was left-handed. It was the only physical difference that he had been able to observe so far, all other characteristics making both boys identical to Sam and Dean at their ages. In ten years these boys will look exactly like us, Dean thought as he watched them eating their eggs and bacon, shoveling in food like their lives depended on it.

Dean's phone vibrated with another incoming text message from Castiel. Dean had already called to cancel their meeting today, leaving another voice mail which Castiel was not taking well. His messages were cryptic and loud, all starting with the word URGENT. Dean promised himself he could call again, after they were safely back in the bunker.

But as he glanced at his phone this time the word DANGER had replaced URGENT.

"I gotta make a call," he told Sam, slipping out of the booth and heading outside, aware of Sam's gaze on his back.

"Are you alone?" Castiel's deep voice resonated from the phone in that way of his that always made Dean shiver.

"Yeah, Cas," Dean acknowledged. "What is it?"

"Something big is going on," Castiel said. "It's on the Cable News channel. There are fires everywhere. Not just Henry and John, Dean. Boys who had their thirteenth birthdays yesterday. All over."

Dean felt his heart sink. This couldn't be good.

"Ok, I'll check it out," he answered.

"Dean," Castiel's voice was deeper, darker. "Be careful."

"Always am," Dean replied, ending the call..

* * *

When they got to the bunker it was mid-morning. While the boys went exploring ("Just stay out of the basement!" Dean warned them), Sam checked the internet for information on the fires Castiel had mentioned. Forty-seven in all, spread across the United States and Canada, plus another twenty-six reported in Europe. More reports were coming in, as local news media connected the strange tragedies with the world-wide pattern. All the fires were unexplained, all involved families with boys whose thirteenth birthday was yesterday.

"The kids all died, Dean," Sam breathed, his voice breaking with sorrow. "Every single one, along with their parents and anyone else who was with them when the fire happened."

They found the report on the car fire which had killed John's parents; from the car's license the cops had been able to identify the vehicle owner and interview neighbors in Macon who confirmed that John and his parents had left in their car for the movies earlier in the evening, never to return. The fire had so badly incinerated the car that it was difficult to identify the bodies, but all three people in the car were assumed dead.

All three. So whoever had done this assumed John was dead. Thank God for small favors.

But Henry had survived. That report had gotten into the media, along with the fact that he had been picked up at the scene by his uncles, Dean and Sam Hunter.

Oops. Ok, so word was out. And whoever did this knew Henry was still alive. Knew the Winchesters had him.

Not good.

"Dean, your sons cannot stay here."

Dean looked up to find his brother staring at him in that way that was not Sam, and Dean closed his eyes and sighed.

"What now, Zeke?" Dean asked. "What the hell are you saying?"

"The angels are looking for them," Zeke explained. "They know that you have found at least one of them, and will expect that you will bring them here. It is not safe for me, or your brother, if the angels come looking for them here."

"Are the angels behind this, Zeke?" Dean demanded. "What do you know? What the hell is going on?"

"The Winchester twins are Guardians of Time, Dean," Zeke announced. "They are destined to save humanity from the Second Coming."

"They're what?" Dean stared. "They're supposed to save humanity from what? What the hell is the Second Coming? You mean like Jesus on a cloud? Judgment Day?"

But Zeke ignored his questions.

"You must find someplace else for them to stay," he said again, and Dean frowned, clearly frustrated.

"But we just got here," he protested.

"Either they go, or I must, and your brother -- "

"I know, he ain't well enough," Dean interrupted. "I get it." He rubbed a hand over his face. "OK, I'll just have to figure something out.

"Oh, and Zeke, before you go."

The angel looked at him expectantly, and Dean felt himself blush.

"Can you just -- do that thing where you sorta turn your back for awhile? So Sam and I can -- you know -- "

Zeke gazed deeply at him, and Dean shivered and looked away.

"When you need privacy, just say so, and I will step aside. But do not forget, in my dormant state I am dangerous. I cannot always control my responses."

"I know, I get it," Dean insisted.

"And do not tire your brother needlessly, Dean," Zeke remonstrated. "He is still not well."

Dean nodded, lowering his eyes again to avoid the intensity in those gorgeous hazel orbs. He didn't like to admit how much it turned him on, seeing that confident gaze in his brother's eyes. Made something dark and hot pool in the pit of his stomach.

Then Sam was back. He could tell by the little movement Sam made and, raising his eyes, Dean caught his brother looking at him with that soft, tortured look that was uniquely Sam.

"What did you say?" Sam asked, and Dean took a deep breath, glanced at the laptop screen again, trying to recall his thoughts.

"I just said it's not good," Dean improvised. "The angels know we took Henry. They'll figure we found John too. We need to find another place for them, 'cause staying here we're just sitting ducks."

Sam frowned. "How do you know it's the angels? Couldn't it be demons? What if Abbadon's behind this?"

Dean hesitated, opened his mouth, shut it again, searching his brain for an excuse.

"I'm guessing it's angels 'cause the attacks were so damned coordinated," he tried. "I mean, face it. Demons ain't organized. Plus, we know we had a seraph on our asses when these kids were -- when we -- " He struggled to find the term.

"You mean when we conceived the boys?" Sam offered helpfully, and Dean nodded.

"Yeah. That," he agreed, blushing. It was still awkward to recall the memories from that time, when he had possessed the body of the girl who later gave birth to the twins. Not to mention the fact that she had been their daughter from an earlier encounter, when Sam had possessed the body of her mother and Dean had impregnated her.

Good times.

"Ok, so. What's the plan?" Sam asked, and because Dean didn't really have one yet, he decided it might be better to stall. So he reached across the table and closed the laptop.

"Come on," he said. "I'll show you. In my room. Where we can have a little privacy. Now."

Sam stared at him for a minute, not understanding, so Dean winked. Immediately, Sam lowered his eyes, dimpled grin breaking out over his face like sunshine on water, making Dean's heart ache as he watched the color flush into Sam's cheeks.

But of course Henry and John took that moment to bound into the room, eyes bright with excitement, out of breath. Kevin was right behind them, chagrin playing out like a cartoon across his face.

"You've got a demon in your basement!" Henry exclaimed.

"And he thinks he's the King of Hell!" John added.

"Sorry," Kevin cringed. "When I realized where they were going I tried to head them off but they are really, really fast."

"We told you two to stay out of the basement," Sam said sternly.

Henry and John exchanged glances and Henry shrugged.

"I know, but I could sense him," he explained. "He's a demon, but he has human blood in him. He's kinda amazing, y'know?"

"And way cool!" John added enthusiastically. "Like he's super evil but he could be good, y'know?"

Henry nodded. "We could save him," he said solemnly.

Sam and Dean exchanged a stunned look.

"You could save him?" Sam repeated. "How? What do you mean, you could save him?"

"Like you almost did," Henry nodded. "He has a lot of your blood in him, Sam. The good blood."

"How do you know?" Sam stared, and Henry shrugged.

"We just know. Like we know you 'cause we dreamed about you. Like we know about all the stuff you do, all the demons and angels. We just know everything."

"Well that's not creepy," Dean muttered.

"We're not monsters," John spoke up. "You don't have to hunt us, Dean."

"OK!" Dean was on his feet, clapping his hands once to get everyone to just chill the hell out. "I think we need to talk. Kevin, why don't you go -- make us some sandwiches or something. And you two," he gestured to Henry and John,"we're goin' on a little road trip."

"But we just got here," Henry protested.

"We're not done exploring yet!" John added.

"Oh yes, you are," Dean nodded. "Turns out it's not safe for you here. So we're heading out again after lunch."

"Where to?" Henry asked.

"Yeah, Dean. Where to?" Sam echoed, and Dean was totally weirded out for a minute looking from the older to the younger version of his brother. How the hell could Henry look exactly like little Sam that way?

Then it hit him.

"We're heading back to Sonny's place," he announced. "You can stay with him until we work this out."

And before anyone could protest, Dean pulled his phone out and made the call, ignoring Sam's worried frown.

* * *

While the boys ate their sandwiches, Dean made another call.

"Dean."

"Hey Cas," he breathed into the phone, not ready to admit how relieved he was to hear his friend's voice. "It's the angels."

Castiel was silent for a moment, then Dean could hear him sigh.

"I assumed that was the case," Castiel said finally. "Are you in the bunker?"

"Yeah, but we're leaving again soon," Dean said.

"Do you think that's wise?" Castiel asked. "The bunker is warded, is it not?"

"Yeah, but they know we're here. We're gonna get trapped here if we don't move soon." 

Dean didn't want to reveal too much so he changed the subject.

"Listen, Cas, I know things haven't been exactly easy between us lately." He took a deep breath, listening to Castiel's silence for a moment. "But I need to ask for a favor."

"You want me to distract them," Castiel guessed. "Give the angels another target to focus on while you make your escape."

"Cas, I know I don't have the right to ask for anything from you right now," Dean lowered his voice, speaking with the intensity he knew Castiel responded to. "But I need your help, man. I don't give a shit about all this destiny crap, and I don't care if Henry and John are supposed to save the world. This is my family, Cas. My kids. I have to do everything I can to keep them safe."

Castiel sighed.

"I understand," he answered quietly. "What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," Dean said. "I thought former angels could still hear angel radio. Can't you tap into it somehow? Run some interference for us for a few hours?"

"I can try," Castiel answered. "I suppose I could do what humans do. Pray."

"Yeah. Always a good idea," Dean muttered, glancing at Sam, who looked up at him with a questioning expression in his hazel eyes. "Don't you have somebody in the angel hierarchy you can trust?"

Castiel sighed again.

"Dean, they all want me dead. Even the ones I used to think of as my friends. I destroyed their home, Dean. I've killed too many of them to count. They all hate me."

Not all, Dean thought, glancing at Sam again.

"Well, I know you'll think of something," Dean said, trying to convey the confidence he didn't feel. "And listen, Cas, when this is all over, I think we should meet up for drinks somewhere, ok?"

"Are you asking me out on a date, Dean?" Castiel growled menacingly, and Dean had to grin.

"Maybe," he smiled into the phone. "I miss you, man."

Castiel was silent for a moment, and Dean listened, imagining the conflicted look on his friend's handsome face.

"I miss you too, Dean," Castiel admitted finally.

"Ok then," Dean nodded. "See you soon."

 

* * *

After lunch, Dean took the boys into town to buy them some clothes, then left them in the rec room, with Kevin, with strict instructions to get some exercise before their long drive. Sam was still in the library, following news reports on the deaths of thirteen-year-old boys and their families. Confirmed reports were pouring in from everywhere now that everyone was aware that their local tragedies fit into a world-wide pattern. The pundits were busy speculating on the possibility of alien attacks, while religious nuts were predicting the apocalypse. Again.

Dean slammed the laptop shut and slapped Sam's shoulder.

"Come on," he said. "Enough. We've got an hour."

Sam looked up at him, soulful eyes shiny with tears. He nodded, rising heavily to his feet, stumbled so that Dean had to step forward and catch him as he sank down into Dean's arms.

"Come on there, brother," Dean murmured, rubbing Sam's broad back with long, comforting strokes. "I've got you."

He held Sam for a long moment as his body shook with grief, then pulled back so he could look Sam in the eye.

"Come on, Sam," he murmured encouragingly. "It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault, ok? This is just more shit happening that we can't control. We just gotta do what we can for our family, right? That's the main thing."

Sam nodded, swallowed as he fought to control his sorrow.

"Now come on," Dean grinned. "We've got an hour to ourselves. Let's make the best of it." He reached up to cup Sam's cheek, forcing him to look at him, speaking slowly and meaningfully. "We've finally got some privacy, right?"

Sam nodded, trying to smile, dimpling a little under Dean's hand.

"That's right," Dean smiled at him. "This is private, just between you and me, Sam. OK?"

Dean saw the flash of blue in Sam's eyes that told him the message had gotten through to the angel inside Sam before he pulled Sam's face down to his, touching his lips lightly to his brother's.

Sam moaned, falling into the kiss like a drowning man, capturing Dean's mouth with hungry lips, huge hands holding Dean's head steady while he plunged his tongue into the wet warmth. Dean let himself be mauled by his brother, willingly relinquishing control over the encounter so that Sam could sate his need, could take comfort from his brother's body.

They barely made it to Dean's room, Sam clawing at Dean's clothes, then his own, keeping his mouth attached to Dean's as they yanked off their shirts, boots, jeans, until they were both naked and Sam had Dean pressed up against the wall of his room, grinding into him as he mouthed along Dean's jaw, buried his face in Dean's neck, moaning and panting and desperate. Turning Dean's body so his chest was pressed into the wall, Sam's hands held his wrists beside his head as he rubbed his erection into the cleft of Dean's ass, sinking his teeth into the meaty muscle of his shoulder, his own body so tense, wound so tight that it took only a couple of grinding thrusts before Sam was howling his release, warm fluid spurting uselessly over Dean's ass, his own stomach.

Sam stayed pressed against Dean's back as he rode out the aftershocks, kissing and licking at the marks his teeth had made on Dean's neck and shoulder.

"Huh," he chuckled against Dean's skin. "Gonna show."

"It's ok," Dean breathed. "Hot."

Sam's lips found the shell of Dean's ear and he let his tongue flick along it, making Dean shiver.

"Shower?" he murmured.

"Yeah," Dean agreed breathlessly, grinding against the wall as Sam's tongue worked its magic on his ear.

In the shower Sam knelt and took his brother's bursting erection into his mouth, working it until Dean began making the soft, strangled noises Sam loved more than any sound in the world. Dean loved his brother like this, big dangerous weapon of a body on his knees, sensuous mouth and jaws working on his cock, hair wet and slicked back, huge hands splayed over Dean's hips and curled around his dick. When Sam raised his eyes, watching Dean respond to him, water sliding down the muscled chest and arms, it was too much. Dean closed his eyes as his orgasm gripped him, hands clenched in Sam's hair, legs buckling, nearly blacking out as the white heat seared through his body.

Sam stood up and pressed his slick, wet body into Dean's, capturing his mouth with a long, deep kiss, letting Dean taste himself, slipping his big hands around Dean's ass, kneading the strong muscles as he kissed him. Sam was hard again, grinding himself against Dean's stomach, but the water was getting cold, so when Dean murmured "Bed" against Sam's mouth he pulled away long enough to shut off the shower, grab towels, and stumble into the bedroom, where Dean pushed him backwards onto the bed, then slipped down between his legs to take care of him with his mouth. Sam fucked his mouth for awhile, then grabbed lube and pulled Dean up to lay beside him, fucking Dean's mouth with his tongue while he worked his fingers into Dean's hole, opening and prepping the tight channel until it was ready for his oversized dick. Then he turned Dean onto his back and pushed the head of his dick into the slick hole, watching Dean's face for any sign of discomfort as he thrust deeper into Dean's body. Dean gazed up at his brother with half-lidded eyes and parted lips, pushing his hips up to encourage Sam, who was holding himself up with one severely muscled arm while he used his other hand to guide himself into Dean's body. As Sam's dick hit bottom Dean gave a small grunt of pleasure and closed his eyes, and Sam groaned deep in his massive chest, lowering his mouth to Dean's parted lips. They rocked together for a minute, tongues twined, Dean's hands stroking over Sam's strong ass and back, kneading the muscles and pulling him tightly against him, Dean's dick rubbing between them. Then Sam pulled back a little so he could get the angle right, and Dean watched him as he thrust into him, over and over, Sam's face contorting with pleasure, hazel eyes half-lidded, perfect lips swollen and slicked with Dean's kisses. Sam reached between them and curled his long fingers around Dean's dick, stroking expertly as he increased the rhythm of his thrusts, dimpling triumphantly as he hit Dean's sweet spot again, eliciting that uncontrollable little grunt of pleasure he loved so much. Then Sam found it, the perfect stroke that hit Dean just right every single goddamn time, and his hand was doing his dick exactly right and Sam's face was just fuckin' beautiful, man, and shit shit shit fuck fuck fuck.

Somehow they managed to gaze into each other's eyes through their orgasms, making them that much more intense, and nobody had to say anything because they both knew, both felt the same way and the world was just standing still for them as white-hot waves pumped through their bodies and lit their hearts, seared their souls, fusing them for all eternity.

As Dean began coming down, felt Sam's body collapsed heavily on top of him, became aware of his arms around his brother, his cheek pressed against Sam's, he heard Sam whisper "Fuck, Dean. Really needed that." And it made him smile.

Sam lay still for another minute, but he knew full well how heavy he was, and although Dean wasn't going to admit it, he was being slowly crushed to death. So Sam pressed his lips against his brother's cheek one last time, then pulled out and rolled onto the bed beside him, hissing as he withdrew his sensitive dick from its warm sheath.

They lay quietly for another minute, catching their breaths, sleepy and content. Then Dean became aware of the sticky mess cooling on his belly, so he got up and headed for the bathroom, leaving Sam snoring on his bed, big body all spread out and glorious, light sheen of sweat making his skin shine like a god's.

* * *

Dean was finishing his shower when the rumbling started. At first he thought the old pipes were having a moment, but when he turned off the water and the rumbling intensified, he knew it was more than that.

By the time he had pulled on his jeans and returned to the bedroom the ground was shaking. Sam was sitting up on the bed, wide-eyed and dazed with sleep.

"Earthquake?" he asked as the shaking intensified, rattling the shelves.

Dean grabbed his shirt off the floor, tossing Sam's jeans to him.

"More like angels," Dean grumbled, pulling his shirt on as he headed to the door.

The floor was starting to buckle when he got to the library, Sam on his heels. Kevin and the boys were already there, staring wildly in confusion.

"We gotta get out of here," Dean announced. "Whole place could come down on us."

The thought of being buried alive in the bunker was definitely freaking him out.

"No," Sam argued. "The angels want us to leave. They're outside waiting for us. We can't leave."

"Well I'm not getting buried alive in here!" 

Dean started for the stairs as books began falling off the shelves, then an entire bookcase fell crashing to the floor and all hell broke loose. Dean and Sam were scrambling for the stairs, Kevin and the boys right behind them, objects flying off shelves, rumbling intensifying so that they couldn't hear themselves yelling at each other to "hurry!" and "Come on!"

And then it stopped.

Not gradually, not slowly quieting with smaller and smaller rumbles, but sudden, total cessation. Like someone had turned off the switch.

They all stopped dead in their tracks, confused. One last book fell and Dean jumped. Because there was no other sound. Nothing.

"What just happened?" Dean said into the silence, then looked at Sam. "Sam?"

But Sam was just Sam, no blue glowing eyes, no angel. So not Zeke. Ok then.

"What?" Sam stared back at his brother.

"Who turned it off?" Kevin cried, his voice rising in near-hysteria.

"I think it was us," Henry said, and all eyes turned on him. He was holding John's hand, and the look on John's face was one of shock and awe and amazement, staring at his brother.

"What? What are you talking about?" Dean demanded.

"We did it together," Henry said.

"Did what together?" Dean said.

"We moved," John said, turning his huge green eyes to Dean. "We just thought about how if we could go back to yesterday this wouldn't be happening. So we did."

Dean still wasn't following. "So you did what?"

But Sam understood.

"You took us back in time?" he asked, and Henry nodded.

Dean stared at Sam, then back at the boys.

"So this is yesterday," he spoke hesitantly, angry despite himself. "You moved us all -- the whole bunker -- Crowley. Crowley?"

"Everything inside the bunker," John assured him.

Dean looked around at the mess, books and objects all over the floor, the tables.

"Baby," he said suddenly. "Did you get my car?"

"I think so," Henry said, but Dean was already heading for the garage. Sam and Kevin ran down to the dungeon to make sure the devil's trap was still holding, then Sam checked the laptop to confirm what the boys had done.

"My God," Sam was murmuring as Dean entered the library, having confirmed that his baby was indeed still safely parked in the garage where he had left her.

The others were gathered in the library, Kevin and the boys picking up as best they could, Sam browsing the internet.

"What?" Dean demanded.

"It really is yesterday, Dean," Sam breathed. "I mean, like before the fires." He looked up, locked eyes with his brother. "We could save them. All the kids who died. All those people."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "OK, how the hell're we gonna do that? Huh? We barely saved Henry and John."

He crossed the room, laid his hand on the edge of the table, leaning down so he could speak quietly just to Sam.

"Look, Sam, I know it hurts, but we cannot save all those people, okay?" he closed his eyes for a minute. "We can barely save ourselves. The angels are after us, and all Henry and John did was buy us some time. We need to follow the plan, Sam. Get the boys to Sonny's. Keep them safe."

Sam's eyes clouded, the familiar wounded expression flooding his handsome face. Dean could see him working it out, trying to come up with an alternative.

"Maybe Henry and John could -- "

"Sam," Dean interrupted. "I know what you're thinking, but I don't think Henry and John even know what they did, let alone whether they could do it again."

Dean took a deep breath, willing Sam to agree with him. 

"Look, we know a little about time travel, and it's not pretty, remember?" he said. "We can't start fucking with it, or it'll start fucking with us. I say we take this as a lucky break and get the hell outta Dodge while we still can. You with me?"

Sam held his brother's gaze for another moment, tortured and in obvious mental pain, and it killed Dean because he understood that look, knew how Sam's guilt ate him alive all the time, and this was yet another instance of Sam feeling like he'd done something terrible and it was all his fault and he couldn't fix it without making it worse.

Then Sam's eyes dropped and he shut the laptop, nodding.

"Okay," he breathed quietly. "We'll do it your way."

* * *

They were on the road within the hour, leaving Kevin to man the bunker and clean up the mess.

And though it hurt them, and they were quiet when evening came and they couldn't help thinking about what was happening to Henry's family, then to John's a little later, nobody said anything about calling them to warn them. Nobody really wanted to take the risk of messing up the timeline and losing Henry or John.

The boys had fallen asleep in the back seat, curled around each other for comfort, understanding what was happening without having to be told as their adopted families burned alive again for the second time in two days. Sam and Dean exchanged glances but said nothing as the appointed hours came and went, driving on through the night without comment. And when it was done, and the time had passed on their dashboard clock, Dean felt a single tear slip down his cheek unbidden, felt Sam looking at him as he kept his eyes steadily on the road.

"Fuckin' time travel, man," was all he said as he wiped his cheek, and Sam let out a long breath, nodding once.

When they stopped for gas outside Davenport, Iowa they debated finding a motel and letting everyone catch up on some much-needed sleep. Dean was getting more than a little punchy after forty-eight hours straight with only an hour or two of car-dozing, and Sam was looking positively ill, his eyes red-rimmed, his cheeks sunken and sallow.

But then the news reports of the fires started coming in on the gas station t.v. monitors, and later in the diner where they stopped to eat, so they pressed on, deliberately avoiding radio news reports in the car, ignoring the t.v. reports at the places they stopped. It seemed dangerous to call ahead and let Sonny know they were coming, and when Dean had spoken to him yesterday in the other timeline he had seemed okay with their plan, so they decided not to risk calling again, in case the angels were listening.

So it was late afternoon and they were around South Bend, Indiana, with only a long day's drive ahead of them, when Dean announced they would be stopping for the night.

It was Sam he was most worried about. His brother looked worse than he'd seen him since the trials, and Dean wasn't letting him drive in his condition, so Dean was starting to worry about his own ability to keep them all safe, especially as they got closer to the hyper-populated East Coast and the driving got more intense.

Then it happened.

They were stopped for gas, and Dean was re-fueling the Impala while Sam took the boys into the little convenience store to get some snacks. Two cars pulled up and six men got out, two of them headed his way and the others into the store, and Dean experienced that rush of adrenaline that he always did when he knew he was under attack.

"Sam!"

Dean yelled a warning toward the store as he whirled on the first dude, pulled out his angel blade and decimated the guy in a flash of light. Dean managed to swing at the second man before he stepped back, deflected Dean's blade with a swing of his angel-powered arm, going in for the kill with his other fist.

Then the whole place exploded in blue light.

Dean found himself on his back next to his baby, breath momentarily knocked out of him, stunned by a blue blast that could only have come from an angel. From inside the convenience store.

Luckily the explosion gave him the drop on his attacker, who was even more stunned than Dean, giving Dean the momentary advantage he needed to stab the guy into oblivion.

It didn't hurt that he was totally pumped on adrenaline and fear for Sam and the boys. As soon as Angel Two was dispatched he was on his feet, running into the store, frantically yelling Sam's name.

And there was Sam, standing in the middle of the chaos that was the store now that everything was knocked onto the floor, and there were the dead bodies of the four angel-possessed humans, on the floor at Sam's feet. And there were the boys, huddled together against the back wall behind the coffee machine, staring wild-eyed at Sam, then at Dean, who also noticed the terrified clerk cowering behind the register at the last minute and instinctively put his hand up to signal the guy to stay where he was.

"Sam?" Dean approached his brother cautiously, aware of the tingling aura of blue light still resonating from Sam's body. "You ok?"

Sam blinked, turned his head toward his brother, focused.

"Dean?" Sam frowned, looked down at the bodies in obvious confusion. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Dean answered, although he had a pretty good idea. He glanced at Henry and John, who undoubtedly saw exactly what happened, but neither said a word.

"But I say let's get out of here before more of those things come gunnin' for us," Dean said urgently.

Sam was still frowning in confusion, but he didn't protest as Dean reached out and grabbed his arm encouragingly. He let Dean lead him over the bodies, turning to gesture to Henry and John, who followed, still clutching each other.

When they got outside Sam stared at the bodies on the ground next to the car but said nothing, still too stunned to speak and clearly in agreement that they needed to get the hell out of the area as quickly as possible.

Once they were back on the highway, though, with no obvious pursuit in sight, Sam turned to his brother, who kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, pretending to ignore him.

"Ok," Sam said. "That was seriously weird. I mean, I think I blacked out in there. I remember walking into the store, then hearing you yell, and I turned to see those four guys coming in and I knew they were coming for us, and then -- " He paused, trying to concentrate. "Then the next thing I knew, they were on the floor and the place was a wreck and you were there. I mean, what the hell happened, Dean?"

Dean clenched his jaw, wracking his brain for another deadbeat excuse, anything to avoid the truth that was eating him alive.

"It was an angel," Henry's voice came clear and strong from the back seat, and Dean glanced at him in the rearview mirror, willing him to shut up.

But it was too late. Sam turned around on the bench to face Henry, his face full of questions, and Dean took a deep breath. Here it comes, he thought. Shit shit shit.

"Henry, what did you see?" Sam asked.

"There was a man, and he was glowing with a bright blue light," Henry said. "I think he killed those men."

"What did the man look like?" Sam asked.

"He looked sorta like you," Henry answered. "He was tall, with dark hair, and he had blue eyes. I think he was wearing a long coat."

Dean raised his eyebrows. mystified by the description, and Sam glanced at him.

"Sounds like Cas," Sam said, still frowning. "Except Cas isn't an angel anymore."

Dean shrugged, glancing at Henry in the rearview mirror again. But the kid looked completely guileless, not like he was lying or trying to keep Dean's secret or -- anything. Just like he was telling the truth.

But what the hell then?

"How did you know it was an angel?" Sam asked, and Henry's eyes widened with wonder.

"He had wings," he answered. "They were huge. It was awesome!"

Sam stared at him. "The angel had wings? Are you sure?"

Henry nodded. "Oh yeah, he spread them real wide just before he made the explosion. It was so cool!"

Sam turned to John, who was still clinging to his brother and seemed genuinely terrified.

"Did you see the angel, John?" Sam asked, and John shook his head.

"I had my eyes closed," he almost whispered, his voice catching. Henry slipped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in protectively, rubbing his arm reassuringly.

"Huh," Sam blew out a breath, turning back to Dean. "Sounds like we have an angel watching our backs. I guess that's a good thing, right?"

"Freakin' angels," Dean muttered.

* * *

Dean was too pumped to stop now, so they kept driving until they had put another two hundred miles behind them before stopping for supper and bed. By that time it was dark and Dean was literally dead on his feet, jittery with sleeplessness, twice as edgy after the attack. He warded the room with magic marker while Sam and the boys ate burgers and salad and watched t.v. then he hit the shower, just trying to shake off the adrenaline high.

When he came back into the bedroom the boys were asleep on the sofa-bed and Sam had stripped to his swearpants and tee-shirt and was sitting on one of the beds surfing the net on his laptop. Dean flopped onto the other bed, crossing his ankles and flinging one arm over his eyes, willing his body to relax. He listened to the keyboard clicking as Sam checked news sites, searching for more evidence of angel activity. Finally Sam let out a long sigh, and Dean could hear him closing the laptop and setting it down on the table next to the bed, turning off the light, getting up, crossing the room to the bathroom.

Dean listened to the bathroom door close, listened to the water running as Sam took a shower, imagined his brother's big body streaming with warm water.

Great. Now he was hard and sleepless. Shit.

The water stopped. Sounds of Sam moving around in the bathroom, then opening the door. Closing it. Crossing the room again. Standing beside the bed silently.

Oh for fuck's sake.

Dean lowered his arm and blinked up at his brother.

"How'd you know I was awake?" he asked quietly, not wanting to waken Henry and John.

Sam was wearing his boxers but nothing else, and Dean's voice hitched just a little.

Sam smiled, and in the dim light from the street lamps outside his chest seemed to glow.

"You're stiff as a board," he answered. "Come on, move over."

"Sam, we can't," Dean's anxiety level was reaching dangerous limits. "The boys'll wake up."

"Not if you're very, very quiet," Sam assured him, reaching down to pull the bedspread off so he could slip under the covers next to his brother.

Dean let out a sigh as he rolled onto his side, letting Sam spoon him from behind, pulling the covers up over them both, sliding his arm across Dean's waist to pull him snugly against Sam's chest. Sam's soft warm lips on the back of his neck made Dean sigh again, and when his hand slipped inside Dean's boxers to wrap around his dick Dean let out a soft gasp and ground his ass back against Sam's erection. It felt incredible as always when Sam manhandled him, took control and just manipulated his body, masturbated him while he lay helpless and willing, coming apart almost immediately with Sam's warm, wet kisses on his neck, his ear, and when he twisted his face up and Sam leaned down to capture his mouth it was like drowning in lava, his whole body writhing in the heat of Sam's kisses, Sam's touch.

When he came it was long and dark and rich, Dean blacking out with the intensity, just letting it all go as he collapsed back into the warm comfort of his brother's body. When he finally surfaced Sam was kissing his neck, riding out the last pulses of his orgasm with small grinding thrusts against his ass. The tension in Dean's body had finally ebbed, draining the anxiety and stress so that all that was left was a warm, languid feeling of boneless peace. He was vaguely aware of Sam moving them out of the wet spot on the bed, keeping Dean pressed close against his massive heated frame, before Dean slipped into blissful unconsciousness, Sam's lips still pressed to his skin.

* * *

In the morning they ate and packed quickly, then hit the road for the last leg of the trip to the Catskills. Dean decided it was safe enough to call Sonny, to let him know they were just a few hours away, and his old friend took the news in stride, sounding surprised but delighted to have Sam and Dean visit him again so soon.

They were pulling up to the house when the second attack came.

The drive had been uneventful, with the boys chattering in the back seat, the sun shining, Sam smiling, music playing, so that Dean was almost lulled into thinking maybe this time they had some luck on their side. Maybe for once everything was gonna be ok. Glancing at the boys in the rearview mirror he even allowed himself a momentary daydream -- they were just a regular family on a road trip, enjoying each other's company, getting a little quality time together. It felt comfortable and right, like somehow he'd known Henry and John all their lives, like he'd spent the past thirteen years raising these two kids, like a normal dad with his sons.

And Sam seemed happy, relaxed and easy with the boys, so that Dean guessed he felt the same way, that being this way with Henry and John was really familiar. The thought even hit him that maybe somehow, somewhere in some alternative universe, he and Sam had given up hunting to be parents, had just done the normal thing for the past few years or whatever.

It made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Which was when all hell broke loose, of course.

The house looked just as it had when they left it a few weeks before, except that instead of Sonny coming out onto the front porch to greet them, the house seemed strangely still and silent.

"Sonny?" Dean called his friend's name as he climbed the steps to the front door, knocking hopefully. 

But it seemed obvious no one was there, and he was just about to open the door and go inside when Sam yelled "Dean!" in that urgent way that sent Dean into instant attack mode.

Whirling around, he was just in time to catch the arm of the angel attacker, who was shorter and female but no less powerful. As he slammed his blade into her chest he was aware of Sam holding off two attackers while a third and fourth were approaching Henry and John, who stood at the bottom of the stairs looking up at him.

"No!" he heard himself scream in the moment before something hit him from behind and his head exploded into dozens of glittering stars against a black background. He was vaguely aware of his body hitting the ground hard, his shoulder smashing as his arm twisted painfully beneath him.

Then darkness.

* * *

"Dean?"

Sam's voice was far away, laced with worry and urgency, and Dean tried to open his eyes, found his head was pounding and it hurt to move. Sam was touching him, smooth warm hands caressing his face, touching his throat, long fingers pressing into the artery in his neck, finding his pulse.

"Is he ok?"

Sonny's voice. Thank God.

He opened his eyes and there was Sam, crouched over him, massive frame completely filling his line of vision, worry etched in the hard angles of his handsome face.

"Sonny?" Dean asked, his voice sounding hoarse, choked. He realized his throat was sore, like something or someone had been squeezing it. Ok then.

"Right here, Dean," Sonny's voice came from his left. Turning his head toward the sound Dean was relieved beyond reason to find his old friend standing on the steps of the porch, looking completely hale and hearty and unharmed.

Then panic set in.

"The boys," he choked out. "John. Henry. Where -- "

"They're gone, Dean," Sam was frowning. "They've disappeared."

"What -- " Dean struggled to sit up, found he was still dizzy and his shoulder hurt like a son of a bitch.

"Boys?" Sonny seemed puzzled.

"Our sons," Dean choked out. "They were with us. The angels -- "

"Are gone too, Dean," Sam assured him. "They just vanished. No sign they were ever here. I'm guessing Henry and John did something again. They moved."

Dean stared at him. "Time travel?" he demanded. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? Where the hell did they go?"

"More like when," Sam clarified. "I'm guessing they're here, just in another time."

Sam helped his brother to his feet, then turned to Sonny. He pulled out his phone, flipped through the photos, then handed the phone to Sonny.

"You seen these boys before?" he asked the old ex-con, who took the phone and stared at the photo for a minute.

Sonny's face broke into a wide grin.

"Yeah, you bet I know these boys," he said. "Came here in the early 90s. Twins. They were about thirteen then, but they stayed off and on with me for about four years."

Sonny looked up at Dean, who was rubbing his arm, trying to work the circulation back into it and the pain out of it.

"You remember, Dean," Sonny went on. "You were here for awhile when they were here. We all thought it was funny that John looked so much like you. Except the glasses and the hair, I mean. You two could've been twins."

Dean stared, frowning. "I don't remember that," he said.

Sonny smiled. "Yeah, you do, Dean. Come on, I'll show you."

Sonny led the Winchesters into the house, leaving them for a minute in the front room while he searched for the book of photographs covering the period when Dean had been a resident there.

It didn't take long. He had retrieved the book shortly before Dean's last visit, planning to show it to him. Then the ghost situation had sort of interrupted things, and he'd never gotten around to it. But the book was still where he'd left it, on a lower shelf in his bedroom, and he easily found the pages he was looking for as he brought the book back into the front room.

"There, see? It's you. And John."

Sonny handed the book to Dean, who recognized himself standing outside in the yard, arm wrapped around the neck of a boy with long hair and glasses. The boy had a shy smile and dazzling green eyes.

John.

And then Dean remembered.

"We were about the same age," Dean breathed, amazed by the sudden onslaught of memory. "And he had a little brother who looked a lot like you, Sammy." He passed the book to his brother, who was seated next to him on the couch. Sam looked at the picture for a moment, and when he raised his eyes there was a film of tears in them.

"Not a little brother, Dean," Sonny was saying. "They were twins. Henry was just smaller."

Dean frowned at the memory. "I remember how shy John was," he said softly. "He wouldn't talk to anyone but his brother. I got him to hang out with me. Loosen up. He was a great kid."

Sam was staring at the photographs, turning the pages.

"Oh God. There's Henry," Sam breathed quietly, and Dean leaned over to see.

"How did I not remember this?" Dean murmured as he studied the picture of the dark-haired boy with the dimpled smile, standing with a group of other boys on the front porch of the house. Henry looked happy, healthy, and obviously popular, the other boys leaning on him or around him like he was their natural leader, as small as he was.

"Didn't it seem weird to you? The resemblance?" Sam asked, and Dean shrugged.

"Not really," he answered truthfully. "I mean, we were kids. We took everything for granted. The other boys were from broken homes, bad situations mostly. Nobody talked about their backgrounds much. Nobody asked me about you and Dad, and I sure as hell didn't go askin' the other kids about their families. Not my business."

"Jesus, Dean," Sam breathed. "They were here. You knew them."

Dean shook his head. "Yeah, guess I did," he murmured, raising his eyes to Sam's, who was having the same thought. "You think they knew?"

Sam let out a long breath, his eyes widening. "I don't know," he said. "Maybe. I mean, they knew your name, right? How could they not know?"

He looked up at Sonny, who was hovering uncomfortably.

"What happened to them? How long were they here?" Sam asked.

Sonny shrugged. "Altogether they were here four years," he said. "I never really knew what their home life was like. Parents were dead or missing, so they were being raised by a couple of uncles. Kept being left alone, wandering around causing trouble, so the authorities would bring   
'em back here. Spent maybe nine months of the year with us, goin' to school mostly, then the uncles would come pick 'em up. Next year, same thing."

"You ever talk to the uncles? Know where they lived?" Sam asked.

"Kansas, I think," Sonny answered. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance.

Dean felt the smarting of tears behind his eyes. "You ever see the uncles?" he asked.

Sonny shook his head. "They called ahead, let us know when they were coming, waited in the car when they pulled up. Boys would just be all ready to go, and that was it. Last time was the spring of '96, I think. Boys were 17." Sonny smiled at the memory. "Henry had got tall all of a sudden. Really tall. Always kept his hair cut short, neat. John was the long-haired hippy, always trailing along behind his brother, still shy even at 17. Henry was always popular, always very social. Happy kid. A real joy to have around."

Sonny shook his head. "Always wondered what happened to those boys," he said.

"You never heard from them again?" Sam asked.

Sonny shook his head. "Not a word," he admitted. "It was like they just vanished off the face of the earth, y'know? Not that I expected to hear. Most of the boys who leave here never look back. Once in awhile, if they managed to make a life for themselves, keep out of jail or whatever, then I get a postcard or a picture later, thanking me. Or they drop back in if they're in the area, to visit. Like you did, Dean," he smiled at his old resident, and Dean smiled back. "But those boys, even after four years here, never a word again."

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, rose smoothly together.

"Thanks, Sonny," Sam put out his hand, and Sonny took it, pulling him in for a hug.

"You know, Sam," Sonny commented as he released him. "You seemed familiar to me from the moment I saw you, and now I get it. It's 'cause you're a lot like him. Quieter, maybe, less boisterous, but you're a lot like Henry. Or maybe I should say he's a lot like you."

Sam smiled one of his rare smiles, and his face lit up, practically glowed.

Sonny turned to Dean. "I'm not even gonna ask what this is about," he said. "I have my suspicions, but they don't make sense, so I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess this is one of those private family matters I'd better keep my nose outta. But I gotta tell ya, whoever those uncles were, they did good. Like your dad did raising you two. Winchesters are good people."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Thanks, Sonny." 

He hugged his old friend, who invited them to stay for supper but they declined, both feeling the need to get back to Kansas as soon as they could.

* * *  
In the car, back on the road West again, Sam said, "So the uncles -- you think it was us? Are we gonna be doing some time traveling?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Hope not," he growled. "Hate time travel. Never goes well for me. Ever."

"So, those uncles Sonny mentioned --" "

"I don't know, Sam," Dean shrugged. "Maybe it was older versions of themselves or somethin'."

"Huh," Sam nodded. "Hadn't thought of that. Yeah, that would actually make some sense."

"Sam, none of this makes sense, ok?" Dean reminded him crossly. "I mean, come on. Our sons are fuckin' Guardians of Time! Apparently they have supernatural powers. Our sons. Think about it! No, don't think about it," Dean shook his head. "Fuckin' creeps me out, man."

"Why, Dean?" Now Sam was cross. "Because it makes them freaks? Monsters? Like demons and angels and all those things we hunt?"

"Hey," Dean glared. "Our kids are not angels, ok? They are nothing like angels."

"You're right," Sam agreed. "They're not. They're freakin' Time Guardians."

Sam pulled out his phone and punched out a text, hit send.

"What're you doing?" Dean demanded.

"Texting Kevin," Sam answered. "Have him look up Time Guardians. See what he can come up with."

"You're gonna have him research our children? Are you crazy?" Dean seemed genuinely disturbed, and Sam put his hand on his arm to keep him from running off the road.

"Calm down, Dean," Sam's voice was steady and quiet, and Dean relaxed a little, returning his attention to the road. "I'm thinking maybe the Men of Letters have records on them. I'm guessing Henry and John spent time growing up in the bunker, training to be hunters as well as Men of Letters. And I'm guessing those uncles Sonny told us about are either older versions of themselves or -- "

He hesitated, till Dean finally glanced at him.

"Or what, Sam?"

"Or they're us, Dean," Sam answered. "Older versions of us."

Dean glared at the windshield again, consumed by frustration. The whole thing just sucked and made him feel out of control and stupid.

He was deep in thought, still angry, when Sam's phone buzzed. It was Kevin calling them back. Dean could tell from Sam's end of the conversation that the Time Guardians had indeed left records in the Men of Letters archive.

In fact, Kevin told them, apparently they founded the whole thing. Over 150 years ago.

"Fuck," Dean slammed the flat of his hand against the steering wheel, making Sam glare at him.

And, Kevin went on, the Winchester family name was there from the beginning. Apparently the guy who established the Winchester Rifle Company during the Civil War helped build the bunker in Lebanon. Oliver Winchester was a hunter and a Man of Letters, just like Sam and Dean.

"In those days, the Men of Letters were also men of action," Kevin noted. "Henry and John Winchester show up again and again in the archive. They practically ran the whole thing."

Sam thanked Kevin and ended the call, turning to Dean with a mystified look.

"I can't believe we never noticed this before," he said.

Dean just shook his head, fingers clenching and unclenching around the steering wheel.

"Or maybe it hadn't happened yet," Sam mused. "I mean, until we picked up the boys and deposited them safely at Sonny's."

Dean shut his eyes for a moment, opened them, clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth.

"Almost got them killed, you mean," he growled.

"No, Dean," Sam protested. "We saved them. They wouldn't have survived if we hadn't picked them up. You saw what was going on. Their powers were very raw, very undeveloped. They couldn't protect themselves yet. We had to be there when we were. It had to be us."

"Fuckin' time travel," was all Dean said, shaking his head.

Sam slipped a hand onto his leg, patted him gently.

"We did good, Dean," Sam said quietly. "For once, we did good."

Dean clenched his jaw again, said nothing, staring straight ahead through the windshield at the endless road.

But Sam's hand was warm on his thigh, and he felt himself relaxing just a little, taking some small comfort in his brother's touch.

* * *

Later, when they stopped for the night in a motel somewhere in Indiana, Dean had a dream.

In the dream there was a man standing over the bed, a familiar man wearing a long dark coat.

Sam.

But not Sam.

Dean glanced over at his sleeping brother, sprawled out on his back next to him on the bed, snoring. Then he looked up at the man standing next to the bed.

"What the hell?" he whispered. "Sam?"

"It's Henry, Dad," the man's voice rumbled in his chest, like Sam's but deeper somehow. Older.

"Henry?" Dean repeated. "What are you doing here? Where's John? Everything ok?"

"Everything's fine, Dad," Henry assured him. "John's fine. He's at home, working. I just wanted to check in on you, let you know we're ok."

Dean swung his legs over the side of bed, sat up, reaching for his jeans.

"Can you stay?" he asked as he pulled on his pants. "Wanna get a burger?"

Henry smiled, his face lighting up in the gloom of the darkened room. "Yeah, Dad, I'd like that," he said softly.

So Dean and Henry found themselves sitting across from each other at the diner, munching bacon cheeseburgers and fries, slurping beers. Dean studied his son, noticed the lines around his mouth and eyes, the streaks of grey in his brown hair, realized this Henry was older than he was, maybe in his forties.

"Sam won't eat these things," he commented after they had sat in comfortable silence for most of their meal, exchanging small smiles, companionable glances.

Henry smiled, dimples smoothing his wrinkles like sunshine on water. Always like sunshine, that smile, Dean thought fondly.

"I know," Henry said. "He's got a delicate stomach. John too."

"Yeah?" Dean took a swig of his beer.

Henry smiled again, and there was a film of tears in his eyes. He looked down at his burger, picked up his beer.

Dean studied him for a minute, cleared his throat.

"It don't end well, do it?" he said softly.

Henry huffed out a breath, scrunched his face up like he was holding back tears, kept his eyes on his plate as he gave a single shake of his head.

Dean sighed. "Hey, we always knew it, ok?" he said. "Sam and me, we always knew we weren't gonna grow old."

Henry huffed again, and his shoulders shook. He raised his eyes, but wouldn't look at Dean, staring instead out the window as the tears overflowed his eyes, ran down his cheeks.

"I always thought I could change things," he said, voice choking. "I thought I could keep it from happening. But no matter what I did, it just kept ending up the same way. I couldn't stop it." His eyes met Dean's, miserable and grieving.

Dean grabbed some of the napkins from the napkin-holder and pushed them across the table at his son.

"Hey, I'm sure you did everything you could," he said as Henry took the napkins, wiped his face, reached for more. "It's not your fault."

"I miss you so much, Dad," Henry choked out.

Dean reached across the table and patted his arm awkwardly.

"Ok, ok, son," he said. Weird to call this giant man, who was clearly older than he was, "son."

But weird was what Dean was good at, after all.

"I can't tell you, you know," Henry went on. "I even tried to, once. Just made it worse."

Dean nodded.

"Yeah, I get that," he said. "The whole time travel paradox thing."

Henry nodded.

"Something like that," he agreed. He took a deep breath, dried his eyes again. 

"I guess I just needed to tell you -- " he paused, looked into Dean's eyes for a minute, then shook his head. "No, you wouldn't want me to, would you? You never liked those chick flick moments."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You think I can't handle a little emo once in awhile?"

Henry barked out a laugh.

"Oh, I know you can," Henry said. "I just don't wanna embarrass you."

"Nothin' about you could embarrass me. Ever," Dean said quietly, realizing as he said the words that they were true. "You and John, you're what makes it all right, ok? For Sam and me. Just knowing you're living your lives, doin' good in the world."

He frowned at his son. "You are doin' good, right? No deals with demons? No letting each other get possessed by angels?"

Now it was Henry's turn to frown, shift uncomforrtably. "About that, Dad -- "

Dean put his hand up. "Don't wanna know," he said quickly. "I have a feeling anything you tell me will just make it worse. And I'm fucking it up enough already, thank you very much."

Henry lowered his eyes, letting another smile dimple his face.

"It'll be ok," he murmured softly. "But you gotta let Cas help you, Dad. That's all I'm gonna say."

Dean stared at him for a moment, the mention of Castiel jogging something in his memory that had been bothering him for the past two days.

"Hey, uh, you remember when the angels attacked when were were at the Gas-n-Sip on the way to Sonny's?" Dean said.

Henry nodded.

"Ok, in the car afterwards, you said an angel saved you in there, right?"

Henry nodded again. "Yeah, I remember."

"So you knew then about Zeke?" Dean ventured, suddenly so relieved to just be able to talk about it with somebody he could hardly stand it.

Something unreadable crossed Henry's face, then was gone.

"No," Henry said. "I didn't know Sam had an angel in him then. The angel that stepped in to save us wasn't really an angel. I just thought it was. It was me. I knew Sam's angel would blow the place apart, see. Kill everyone within a five mile radius of that gas station. I couldn't let that happen."

"So you stopped him?" Dean clarified, and Henry nodded.

"I'm a hunter, remember? Killing angels is something I learned how to do a long time ago. From you."

"But the blue light -- " Dean was still puzzled.

"There are some weapons you have yet to learn about, Dad," Henry grinned. "Some of them only work on angels, leaving the humans in a room unharmed. No blood either. Makes things easier sometimes."

"Huh," Dean nodded, impressed. "Yeah, I guess it would."

They finished their beers, Dean paid, then walked back to the motel. It was still dark, and Dean was reluctant to let Henry go. At the door to his room he turned, looked up at his son.

"Just one more thing," he said, and Henry waited patiently. "When I finally bite it, is it -- do I -- " 

Henry's lips tilted up in a small smile. "Yeah, Dad, it's a good death. A hero's death." He lowered his eyes, fighting tears again, and Dean nodded.

"Good," he muttered, satisfied. "And Sam. Is he -- "

"Right there when it happens, Dad," Henry confirmed. "Always with you. Always."

Dean thought about that for a moment, realizing it meant he'd go first, which maybe wasn't so good for Sam, but then he was always the one who couldn't live without the other. Sam was a little better able to survive that loss than he was. Always had been.

Dean cleared his throat. "Ok, then," he muttered. "Thanks for that, Henry." He looked up, hesitating, and suddenly Henry's long arms were pulling him in, crushing him in a giant bear hug which felt at once deeply familiar and oddly unique at the same time. Like Sam, but not.

He returned the embrace, patting Henry's broad back awkwardly.

"Ok, ok," he murmured into Henry's shoulder, letting the hug go on as long as Henry needed it.

When Henry finally pulled back he was smiling, but his eyes were still shiny with tears.

"Ok, Dad," he said, swiping one big hand across his cheek. "I'll see ya around."

"Yeah?" Dean asked, "For me, this isn't goodbye, right?"

Henry sighed, wiped his eyes again, smiled. 

"No, you'll be seeing us both again, that you can count on," he confirmed, nodding unsteadily.

"Good," Dean flashed a smile that made Henry smile wider. "See ya around then, Henry."

Henry gave him one last nod, then Dean realized he would need to be the one to end this, so he turned around to the motel and slipped his key into the lock. When he had the door open he looked back over his shoulder, but Henry was gone.

As Dean entered the dark room, shutting the door quietly behind him, he could see the dark lump of his brother on the bed, still snoring lightly. Sam stirred when the door clicked shut and Den shrugged out of his jacket, stripped down to his boxers and tee-shirt, slipped into the bed next to his brother's warm body.

Sam stirred again, turning toward him, slipped one arm under Dean's body, pulled him against him. Dean snuggled into his brother's embrace, pushing his face into the warm, damp skin in the v of his teeshirt, breathing in Sam's sleepy, sweaty scent.

As Dean drifted back to sleep he felt Sam's lips press a soft kiss against the top of his head. He would tell Sam about Henry's visit in the morning. But for now, held safe and warm in Sam's arms, his life was just about ok.

Better than he deserved.


End file.
